


Right Here

by theparanoidwriter



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparanoidwriter/pseuds/theparanoidwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off an au idea from m4rcobodt on tumblr <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Here

**Author's Note:**

> For max pain, listen to this song while reading:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYj0B71M06I
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: DEATH

He didn't know exactly when it started, neither of them did. Whether or not anybody noticed or cared didn't matter. They never thought about it other than to think about how good it felt. How right it felt.  
When Eren baited Jean in the dining hall, Marco placed his hand over Jean's and laced their fingers. When they dressed in the morning and Marco's straps tangled, Jean helped straighten them, his knuckles brushing against the freckled nape. When it was late in the night, they snuck over to one another's bunks and curled up, their bodies fitting against each other perfectly. When he ventured too far away, Jean slipped his arm around Marco's waist and guided him back to his side. When Jean doubted himself, Marco's hand was right there, resting on his shoulder or his thigh, giving a light squeeze. They lived in the outside world, but also in their own world of intimate touches.  
The morning of the attack on Trost, neither of them could keep their hands off each other. They both could sense something was wrong. Lying in bed, their shoulder pressed together, hunched up so that they hid beneath it, in an enclosed space made from their own bodies. Marco ran his hand along Jean's jaw, while Jean drew figures on Marco's freckled chest. They rested their foreheads lightly against one another, eyes closed, and let the warmth of each other's breath caress their cheeks and kept that way as their hands fluttered about.  
When the other trainees woke up, they dressed and joined them. Before they had to separate, Jean took Marco by the hand and pulled him aside, pressing his lips against him. It was instinctive, innocent, and it got his message across.  
Be safe.  
Marco started the kiss this time and pulled back with a smile.  
You too.  
Jean's hand lingered on the right side of Marco's face, thumb brushing away the traces of tears that started to form.  
It'll be alright.  
Then just like that, they had to go and when the Colossal Titan broke the wall and titans came in; when Jean dashed for safety; when his squadmates were devoured; throughout all of it, was the underlying need for Marco. If only to reach out and brush his hand, those freckled knuckles. Even the few times he had with Marco in between weren't enough, they were rushed, and when Marco jumped down to divert the titans' attention as he frantically tried to get the 3DMG off of the corpse, he fought the urge to reach out and grab Marco's wrist.  
He relished the memories they had between and held onto them so that he could trudge through Trost on cleanup duty, horrified at all the corpses littering the floor. Chills ran up and down his spine like a telephone wire, but his body waited for the inferno that was Marco.  
Three years together of holding hands, squeezes, massages, cuddling and neither of them had ever given any thought to it, but when Jean found Marco's corpse lying against the building, it was all he could think of.  
He thought about the sparks when he had rested his hand against the right side of Marco's face just a few days ago. He thought about Marco's right arm pulling and pressing Jean into him as they slept. He thought about all the times that he had rested his head on Marco's chest. He thought about every moment of contact, communicating better than any words could ever hope to.  
Then he thought about how badly he wanted to hold Marco's again, but he couldn't. He thought about Marco hugging him, letting him know everything would be alright. He thought of how he hadn't been able to do that for Marco, to hold his hand as he took those last breaths, at least.  
When the lady asked him for Marco's name, their conversation was all he could let slip out.  
They touched again, but instead of the usual rushing flames, his fingers, hands, and chest stung with frostbite as he lifted Marco's body up and took him to the funeral pyre.  
The chill lingered and devoured any warmth he had left in his body – not even the flames of the pyre could renew it. He stood in silence, but his body did all the talking for him. His fingers twitched, but there wasn't a hand there to hold. He watched the flames dance around and took a few steps forward. Then amongst it all, heat enveloped him in a bear hug. He swore he felt Marco's breath tickle his ear.  
I'll be right here now.


End file.
